


Don't Look Now, Things Just Got Worse

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Smallville RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-22
Updated: 2006-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:50:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8699716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Next installment in the new otp 'verse moving us closer to current day Supernatural.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** Don’t Look Now, Things Just Got Worse  
**Characters:** SV!Jensen/GG!Jared  
**Rating:** NC-17.   
**Word Count:** 4, 388  
**Disclaimer:** I don’t own Jared or Jensen, I’m not affiliated with them, and none of the following ever happened. Of that, I can be certain.   
**Summary:** Next installment in the new otp ‘verse.  
**Notes:** I’d like to thank my beta of badassery, [ ](http://technosage.livejournal.com/profile)[**technosage**](http://technosage.livejournal.com/), for being so enthusiastic about this ‘verse of mine and basically just letting me porn at her all hours of the night and day. And then _fixing_ it. ♥  
  
  
  
  
_I love you. I miss you. Good luck!_  
  
Jared stares at the card in exasperated amusement, feeling some of his initial anxiety wear off in the midst of the bright yellow smiley face. If nothing else, it has him grinning like an idiot instead of sitting around jumping at every footstep echoing down the long hallway.  
  
“Did you get it?”  
  
“Yeah, Sandy.” He smiles at the happy chirp of her voice, phone caught between his shoulder and his ear as he folds the card and tucks it into his pocket. He takes a turn for wry and teasing as he lowers his voice. “I also got the bear. _And_ the singing telegram. Any more surprises?”  
  
“That damn spider _still_ hasn’t written out _Some Pig_ on the walls yet?” A cluck of tongue over the line, and then, “What a fucking rip-off.”  
  
Jared laughs. “You’re something else.”   
  
“I know, baby.” There’s a beat of satisfied silence, and then, “So, how’s the weather up there?”  
  
Jared blows out a breath, sinking back into his chair and tapping his knee in distraction, studying the small group of young actors grouped together in the waiting room along with him. He’s not really an expert on auditioning or anything; _Gilmore Girls_ had been more lucky timing than talent, he’s pretty sure, but he’d thought that there would be a common denominator when you try out for a particular role. That everyone would have to…be blond, or be tall, or be able to juggle with one leg tied behind their back.  
  
The casting room for Sam is full of so many different stereotypes, Jared’s not quite sure what to make of it, although he’s a bit amused by the guy who looks like he’s thirty-four and is wearing a Stanford hoodie. He kind of wishes _he’d_ thought of that.  
  
“It’s cold,” he finally answers Sandy, emphasizing the understatement present in that remark. “Like, we’re talking witch’s tit here.”  
  
“Oh, please.” He can hear Sandy rolling her eyes from here. “You need to thicken up, Texas boy. It ain’t that cold.” The pointed twang makes Jared snort and slouch lower into his seat, fingers walking along his knee as he drops his voice to a purr.  
  
“What would you know about thick skin, darlin’? You’re from Calee-forn-eye-aye.”  
  
“I know that you can’t even stand in front of your own refrigerator without two hoodies and three pairs of socks,” Sandy retorts, smugness weighing down each syllable. “Face it, Jared. You. Are. A. Pussy when it comes to the weather. You sure you’re gonna be able to handle filming in Vancouver for months on end?”  
  
Jared’s amusement slips, and he covers it up with a quick laugh. “Yeah, um. It’ll be fine.” Especially since Jensen’s timely character death on _Smallville_ a mere two weeks earlier. Jared had gotten the call from the WB minutes after Tom had called, letting him know Jensen was leaving Vancouver, and Jared had quickly booked a flight. Before he’d given himself enough time to change his mind, again.  
  
“Jared Padalecki?” He snaps his neck in the direction of the voice addressing him, finding the smiling blonde woman’s eyes fixed on him. “They’ll see you now.”  
  
Jared nods, sends a quick smile of his own and comes to his feet. “I gotta go,” he tells Sandy, abruptly and ridiculously nervous. “I’ll call you and let you know...”  
  
“You’ll do fine. Be Sam,” Sandy says, employing the soothing tone she’d used just yesterday morning when Jared had left their apartment in Los Angeles. “I love you, okay?”  
  
One side of his mouth tilts. “Yeah. Love you, too.”  
  
He hangs up and turns to begin the rest of his life.  
  
  
 

***

  
  
  
  
“You’ve got it in the bag,” Tom says, leaning against his kitchen counter while Jared gulps down a glass of water. They both stink to high heaven, coming off of an hour-long workout at the nearby gym, and right now Jared wants nothing more than a piss and a warm bed to fall in. “You make it this far…they don’t call you back for nothing, you know.”  
  
Jared spares him a look, pulling the glass away and sucking drops of sweat and water from his lip. “You went in four times for Clark,” he reminds his friend, stretching out his legs and letting his head flop back against the chair.  
  
“Yeah, but that’s because _I_ kept changing my mind.”  
  
“Fuckin’ prima donna.” But Jared’s grinning now, any lingering excitement from his audition melting into a sort of reassuring Zen-like calm. “If I get it, I get it, I guess. If I don’t…well, there’s always McDonalds.”  
  
“You’re gonna get it,” Tom says again. “Who the hell else are they gonna give it to?”  
  
Jared lifts a hand to his heart, bats his lashes. “No need to get all flowery on me, sugar.”  
  
“Blow me.” Tom sets his own drink down. “Seriously, did you get an idea of anyone else they’re considering?”  
  
Point of fact, Jared hadn’t. He’d found it quite odd, actually, not because – as Tom had once explained to him – network suits were ever keen on showing their hand before the final cards were dealt, but because he’d just…had a weird feeling all day. That something was off, and he wasn’t sure if it was a bad thing or not.  
  
“No,” is all he says in response to Tom’s question, a furrow starting between his brows. “I go in next week to meet with the creator, so...”  
  
“Worst case scenario, you could always sleep with him,” Tom cracks, and Jared goes still as death. He can feel the smile stuck on his face, nails curled against the table, and Tom’s still talking but he can’t _hear_ anything other than—  
  
\--“ _I was nineteen when I let the first one fuck me._ ”  
  
Bile’s threatening to choke him and his skin feels cold and clammy. When a hand comes down heavy on his shoulder, he nearly jumps out of the chair, turning to meet Tom’s concerned eyes.  
  
“Hey, I was…I was just fucking around with you,” Tom says, eyebrows drawn together. For the first time Jared can remember, his friend looks anxious and uncertain and— “Jared, you know I—”   
  
“Yeah.” He forces a smile, a chuckle, loosening his knuckles and shoving a hand through his hair. For God’s sake, of course Tom didn’t _know_ why some dumbass throwaway comment would affect him like this. It was…it’s just Jared’s problem. “No, I…it’s fine. It’s cool, dude.”  
  
Tom doesn’t look certain. “You’re white as a fucking ghost, Jared.” There’s something speculative and scared starting to swirl in Tom’s gaze, and Jared’s own eyes widen as he begins to put two and two together and realize just what Tom’s thinking.   
  
“Jesus, Jared, h-have you—”  
  
“It’s really nothing—”  
  
They both break off at the same time, staring at each other for a long moment before Jared cracks first, helpless laughter bubbling up inside his throat and spilling past his lips. It takes Tom longer to respond, but soon he’s laughing, too, and rubbing a hand down his face.  
  
“Christ, I don’t even know what I was saying.” Tom shakes his head. “Next time? Just hand me a shovel to dig my own hole, okay?”  
  
“Will do.” Jared gives a cheeky salute, smiling so bright it hurts as Tom snorts under his breath and turns to move away, leaving Jared sitting at the table alone with the ghosts of issues he’s apparently not resolved.  
  
Fucking perfect.  
  
  
 

***

  
  
  
Jared’s not really sure what to expect when he enters the network building again a week later, but finding himself alone in the yawning waiting room isn’t really…it. He has a moment of concern that maybe he’s mistaken the time, the date, the building itself, before he hears footsteps coming his way and turns with a grateful sigh to greet his competition. Anything’s better than being alone with his own demons, with wanting Sam _so badly_ that he can almost understand why—  
  
The thought dies when he meets Jensen’s gaze, those familiar eyes wary and heavy-lidded. Jared’s a bit ashamed that the first thing he thinks, the first thing he feels, is unadulterated joy and _oh, thank fucking God_ , quickly followed by _oh, what the fuck?_  
  
“Jay,” Jensen says, voice thrumming low. There’s no mistaking the warm pleasure present in the slow curve of his lips, and Jared blinks. The sound of that nickname is like salt on an open wound, and he has to school his features into a blank mask.  
  
“Jensen.” Surprise is quickly transforming into irritation – self-directed and otherwise – and he can’t help the bite in his tone when he continues, “Where is everyone?”  
  
“Just us.” Jensen takes another step into the room and shrugs off his jacket. Jared looks away, jaw clenched, resolutely _not_ thinking about the last time he’d seen Jensen start to get undressed. His fingers are itching to reach out, and he curls them tight into fists.  
  
“You’re here for Sam,” he surmises flatly, wondering why he’s even surprised. Because of _course_ Jensen’s here for Sam. And he’d get it, too, because he was fucking _Jensen_ and he got whatever he wanted whereas Jared had spent months - _months_ \- dreaming about this stupid role and working his ass off, and Jensen was just gonna waltz in and maybe even blow this freaking Kripke guy and—  
  
Oh, God. What the hell is he _thinking?_   
  
“I’m here,” Jensen agrees easily, oblivious to the shamed waves of anger and guilt washing through Jared as he takes a chair across the room.   
  
Months. It’s been months of silence on both ends, of careful avoidance through mutual friends and Jared’s family – who’d taken to asking him about Jensen every time he called, so lately he just _didn’t_ \- and now this? It’d almost be funny were Jared not pretty damn sure he’s having a heart attack.  
  
He has all of two seconds to process and be grateful that at least he won’t have to embarrass himself by auditioning _in front of_ Jensen before they kick his ass out, but then the same smiling blonde receptionist/assistant shows up and crooks her finger for both of them to follow.  
  
The minute-long walk down the hall feels like a never-ending death march; Jared’s all too aware of the burning gaze in his back and feels his muscles winding even tighter in response. He’s torn between cussing at Jensen and throwing him up against the nearest wall and, oh no, he’s so not going there. So. Not.  
  
He’s over Jensen. He told himself so, not even a week ago.   
  
Eric Kripke’s nothing like Jared had imagined, and he immediately, surprisingly, finds himself calming down and _laughing_ with the eager writer and producer, even when the threat of Jensen Ackles looms large behind him. It’s not until Eric turns his attention toward the figure leaning up against the wall that Jared’s mouth goes dry, and he struggles to keep his expression open and easy.  
  
“Thanks for coming in again, Jensen,” Eric’s saying, all happy and enthused and Jesus Christ, but Jared _wants this job_ and it’s just not fair because Jensen’s ten times a better actor than he is, with or without the other crap he’s so not thinking about.  
  
“I’m glad to be here.” Jensen flicks his gaze toward Jared, the smallest hint of a smile lifting his lips. “I’ve had time to read over Dean and I think he’ll definitely be a better fit.”  
  
Jared’s first reaction is _who the fuck is Dean?_ And then he realizes just how fucked he really might be.  
  
  
  
 

***

  
  
  
His shoes hitting the wall is satisfying, but not nearly enough to banish the last two hours from Jared’s mind. He jerks his shirt off for good measure, rolling it into a ball and tossing it along after his sneakers.   
  
He supposed to be _happy._ He’s employed now, on a pilot he believes in with a character he _feels_ , and instead all he can think of is the six-plus months he’s gonna be stuck playing up the brotherly love and angst with Jensen Ackles. Son. Of. A. Bitch.  
  
The thing that really gets him? Is that Jensen is just so obviously Dean fucking Winchester. From the moment he’d opened his mouth, reciting lines from a scene Jared now knew by heart—  
  
_“I can’t do this alone.”  
  
“Yes, you can.”  
  
“Well, I don’t want to.”_  
  
—he’d shrugged off cynical and withdrawn Jensen Ackles and transformed into the good-humored, abrasive, fucking _sexy_ older Winchester brother with a skill that had left Jared torn between frustration and pride. Jensen had made _him_ better, meeting every improvisation Jared could think of and raising the stakes higher with his own.  
  
By the end of the audition, Jared had known without a shadow of a doubt this could be something absolutely amazing, and it pissed him off beyond the telling of it. He hadn’t had to see the delighted expression on Kripke’s face, or any of the other suits. He’d felt it, that bone-deep connection of character and chemistry between him and Jensen, and he knew.   
  
They’re in this shit together, come hell or high water.  
  
On the way out, Eric had stopped them both.  
  
“ _You two ever worked together before?_ ”  
  
Jared’s jaw clenches tight, remembering Jensen’s quiet look as Jared had been quick to say otherwise.  
  
“ _Well, could’ve fooled me. Keep it up, boys, and we’ve got a real chance here._ ”  
  
The door slams against the wall as it’s thrown open, and Jared turns to see Tom grinning from ear to ear. There’s already an answering tug at Jared’s lips before Tom produces a bottle of champagne from behind his back and shakes the damn thing, pointing it straight at Jared’s face.  
  
“Dude, Jaime will _kill_ \--”   
  
Jared’s cut off by the blast of cool spray. Tom’s evil laughter echoes in his ears as he shakes his head like a wet dog, tasting the fruity, bubbly taste of the champagne dripping down his face and soaking his collar.  
  
“Asshole,” he manages, unable not to laugh himself. “How did you even know?”  
  
Tom’s smile dims only a little, then it’s back full force, even if his gaze is careful. “Mike talked to Jensen. Damn, Jared, why didn’t you tell us you guys were in it together? Y’all talking again?”  
  
Jared refuses to flinch. He reaches for a shirt, wipes his face. “I didn’t know, and no. I mean, I don’t know.” He grips the shirt tight, staring at the faded and damp material with twitching lips. “I wasn’t expecting to see him, for sure.”  
  
There’s a beat of silence. “Well, maybe now you guys can get over whatever happened and be friends again. What the hell was it, anyway?”  
  
“I don’t wanna—”  
  
Tom waves off the immediate protest. “You don’t wanna talk about it, I know. Well…you better learn to talk to _Jensen_ , man, because it looks like you guys are gonna be spending plenty of quality time together.”  
  
Jared’s grin is bitter and sharp. “You have no idea.”  
  
There’s another few seconds of quiet, and then Tom claps his hands together. “All right, then. I think this calls for a celebration. It’s not every day my boy signs on a new show, and I feel like getting drunk and partying.”  
  
“A party.” Images of heat and skin and fucking swarm around his brain under the label _Jensen_. “Here?”  
  
  
“No, I thought we’d do it on the street corner downtown.” Tom’s voice is dry as ever and Jared makes a face behind his friend’s back before Tom turns around. He lifts a brow, and Jared scratches his neck with a sheepish grin.  
  
So fucking screwed. He should really get it written on a t-shirt.  
  
  
 

***

  
  
  
“Jay.”   
  
It’s a low ripple along Jared’s spine, and his fingers clench around the cup in his hand before he turns. The words of greeting fly out of his head when he actually _sees_ Jensen, and the glass between his fingers shakes.  
  
“Jensen.” He drags his gaze from the tops of Jensen’s boots, up denim-clad thighs to the black silk shirt hugging muscles he still remembers all too damn well. “You came.”  
  
Jensen cocks a brow, lips stretching into a small smile. “I was invited.”   
  
There are people crowded around them, but Jared has the sudden ridiculous feeling that they’re all alone. He looks away toward Tom as his friend strokes a hand down his wife’s arm. When he flicks his gaze back, Jensen is still watching him.  
  
He forces an answering smile. “I never, uh, never said congratulations.” Sliding his free hand into his pocket, he lifts his beer to his mouth and murmurs, “You were…pretty amazing.”  
  
Jensen shifts closer, voice thrumming low. “We were amazing together. Right?”  
  
Jared nearly chokes on the mouthful of Molson. Jensen’s got his eyes half-closed, watching through burnished lashes as Jared struggles to think of a response. Of course, Jensen’s right. But Jared doesn’t think that would make it any easier for either of them to know.   
  
Luckily, he’s saved from reply when Rosenbaum knocks into him, features flushed and eyes glazed. He loops an arm around Jared’s shoulders and thrusts himself between him and Jensen.  
  
“You done good, little Jay Man,” he says, grinning happy and stupid. He pats Jared on the chest, turning toward Jensen. “Now, s’just gonna be the two of you, so I got some helpful advice if you need—”  
  
“We’re good,” Jensen breaks in, and Jared catches a bit of frost weighing down what was previously light and easy. Then Jensen relaxes a bit, offering a smile that looks genuine enough even if Jared can see right through it to the distance beneath. “Thanks, Mike.”  
  
Jared murmurs an excuse and turns to leave, gripping his drink tight and staring blindly across the room for someone – anyone – to use as distraction. Erica and Allie are on the couch, and Jared makes his way over before he can realize they’re deep in the middle of a conversation on shoes. Before he knows it, he’s giving his opinion on heel size and knee versus ankle length boots, and it should be fucking hilarious but he keeps looking up and seeing Jensen, sitting back in the shadows and staring. At _Jared._  
  
He’s not even trying to hide it.  
  
“Jesus.”   
  
Allie glances over questioningly, and Jared shoves a hand through his hair and shifts on the cushion. He’s irritable and itchy under his skin, and he just wants…he just. Wants. His knuckles ache, pale with strain, when Kristin leans against Jensen’s chair and says something, half-shielding Jensen from view. Jared’s disturbed by the way his own lips peel back over his teeth in an almost feral growl.  
  
Jensen nods, a smile teasing the edges of his mouth, but his eyes never leave Jared’s and suddenly it’s just too much. The show, the party, Jensen’s undivided attention whether Jared wants it or not…it’s just too fucking _much_. He ignores Erica’s confused expression when he stands up and walks away mid-sentence.  
  
The second the door of the guest bedroom closes after him, he’s turning the lock and staring at the rumpled sheets he’d slept in the night before. The thumping bass of the stereo beyond makes the floor vibrate beneath his feet, an invitation to dance, for _sex_ , but he walks over to the bed and curls up along a downy body pillow.  
  
Even when he closes his eyes, he can’t avoid Jensen's eyes on him, alternatively piercing and stroking, a tactile weight. His dick is thick and swollen between his fingers, and…when the hell had he even started to touch himself? A short whimper escapes his throat; his hand works in steady jerks as his hips grind down into the mattress and Jensen’s grin burns the backs of his eyelids.  
  
“Fuck, fuck…” It’s a mantra and a curse all rolled in one, because it’s just so damn useless to resist, and he tucks his head in the crook of his arm and screws his fist and the mattress harder. There’s a part of him that hates himself for this, for falling back so easily into the same old routine.  
  
See Jensen, get hard. Like he’s sixteen and horny and Jensen’s the goddamned breeze.  
  
“Idiot,” he hisses at himself around a groan, chewing his bottom lip and turning his face into the pillow. “Stupid fucking… _ah…_ ”  
  
Hasn’t he learned a goddamn thing? Hadn’t he promised himself he could handle this, handle _Jensen?_ Okay, maybe he hadn’t been expecting for Jensen to really approach him to begin with, and what the _hell_ was all that about anyway? A fucking staring contest when anyone who might’ve cared to look could’ve put two and two together and come up with his dick in Jensen’s ass – God, what was he _thinking?_  
  
His mouth stretches wide at the memory of those dark eyes tracking his every movement, and with a drawn out shudder and tight squeeze he comes hot and sticky against his fingers, hips pumping in shallow bursts. He barely recognizes the sound he makes – a mixture of helpless frustration and dire need – before slumping into the sheets.  
  
He rolls over, staring at the ceiling with come and sweat already drying in bitter-salt lines against his skin. The music’s still playing beyond the door, and he knows he’s already been gone too long not to have anyone take notice. Of course, there’s only one person whose notice would even—  
  
The knock has him startling, jumping to his feet and tucking himself back in his pants with a quick zip of metal teeth. He shoves a hand through his hair and catches a glimpse of himself in the wall mirror, blowing out a darkly amused breath at the flush on his cheeks and slack, sated expression.  
  
When he opens the door, he stares at Jensen and thinks _well, of course._ Jensen barely spares him a glance before slipping through the small space between Jared and the door, coming fully into the room while Jared stands there frozen.  
  
“So, you’re staying here.”   
  
It’s not a question, so Jared doesn’t dignify it with an answer, just turns to find Jensen making himself comfortable in the chair by the window. It’s obvious anyway, what with the piles of clothing – _Jared’s_ clothing – decorating the floor and chairs and his fucking underwear three inches from where Jensen’s arm is resting. At that realization, heat bursts in his cheeks and he shoves both hands deep inside his pockets to keep from leaping across the room to hide them.  
  
The silence is deafening and awkward, but Jensen doesn’t seem inclined to leave until Jared says _something_. Legs spread wide, hands resting lightly on his knees.   
  
Jared’s jaw twitches, his eyes narrowing into thin slits. “Yeah.” He clears away the husk tightening his voice. “I am.”  
  
Jensen never even blinks as he comes to his feet, the quiet slide of cotton against skin sounding overloud in the silence between them. Jared doesn’t realize he’s moving until he feels the wall pressed up hard against his back and Jensen’s leg between his thighs, and then he’s staring down into those so familiar green eyes glittering with promise.   
  
Or his doom.   
  
“How about that.” The words are velvet-rough and knowing. Then Jensen licks his bottom lip, shifting closer, and Jared’s fingers are already reaching for lean hips before he realizes what a bad _bad_ idea that would probably be and flattens his palms back against the wall.  
  
“Jensen.” He closes his eyes against the expression darkening Jensen’s pretty features. There’s a flutter of breath against his neck, the faint scent of sweet tequila before something wet opens along the crease of his shoulder and collarbone.   
  
“Hey,” Jensen murmurs against him, and Jared’s hips surge forward at the sexy tease in his voice. Jensen tilts his head and there’s a twinge in Jared’s still-sensitive dick. “Hey. This is familiar.”  
  
Jared’s teeth scrape along his lip. “Jensen…”   
  
“ _Jen_.” It’s not a request, but a reminder of intimacy gone by that Jared just really doesn’t want to deal with, and it sets his blood on slow boil.  
  
Jared gives in, lets his fingers curl and dig into Jensen’s shirt as he drags him forward, nearly tasting Jensen’s low growl. There’s a flash in Jensen’s eyes, something close to triumph, and Jared’s grip tightens before he thrusts Jensen away.  
  
“No.” He meets Jensen’s gaze, lips flattening. “It’s not gonna…it’s not gonna,” he repeats, breathy and wavering.   
  
Jensen’s lips purse. “Jared…”  
  
“Look, we have to be…” Jared’s voice cracks a bit when he moves and feels the press of Jensen’s cock against his leg. “We’re working together.” His words are firm, expression pointed.  
  
Jensen stares back, nonplussed. After a beat of silence, “And?”  
  
Jared’s breath leaves in an irritated rush. “And?” he parrots, disbelief and desire woven through. Jensen’s smirking a bit, and Jared’s eyes narrow. “ _And_ this,” he emphasizes with a sharp snap of teeth. “This is over.”  
  
“This.” Jensen sucks a lip into his mouth and releases it with a wet pop. There’s a wickedness in his voice, his eyes, that runs straight through Jared’s groin when he adds, “Care to elaborate?”  
  
Jared flinches at the insinuation. “No,” he says, voice flat. “I don’t.”  
  
Jensen cocks a brow, remaining silent for a long moment. Jared's skin vibrates with tension and desperate ache and, oh _God_ , but he wants to—  
  
“All right.” Jensen backs up, lips curved slightly as he turns to walk away. Jared stares after him, throat working, and goes still when Jensen’s hand wraps around the doorknob. Jensen pauses, half of his body shadowed by the door as his voice drops low. “Long legs like that, bet you can run real fast.”  
  
Jared doesn’t really know what to say to that, but there’s a part of him that wonders if running away isn’t exactly what he’s doing. He knows he’s in trouble when Jensen’s teeth flash in the moonlight, skin pale with glow. The second the door shuts after him, Jared’s got his phone in his hand and fingers dialing.  
  
“Hello?” The voice on the other line is clogged with sleep and surprise. “Jared?”  
  
Jared stares at the door, feeling the whisper of mouth and tongue on his throat and mattress against his dick before choking out, “I, um, I think I might need backup.”


End file.
